X4: The eXodus
by Hellinbrand and Knight of Blood
Summary: Mutants disappearing off the streets. A secret police force. Rumours of an island, populated entirely by mutants. Is it the Promised Land, or mutantkind’s Babylon? Direct sequel to X3. Please read and review.
1. Prologue

Raven Darkholme flexed uncomfortably. She still wasn't used to wearing clothes. Not real clothes, anyway. The touch of cloth against her skin felt strangely unnatural. Or perhaps that should be _natural_. Raven had not done anything so normal as _wear clothes_ for many years.

But what could be more normal than sitting in an ordinary office, working at an ordinary computer in ordinary clothes doing an ordinary government job? Except that, she was not ordinary. Raven shook her head sharply.

_No,_ she reminded herself, _you are ordinary. He lied. He was a hypocrite. He left you_. The bitterness burned her like a dull fire. The sweet triumph of revenge was gone. It had only masked the pain, not driven it away.

Raven heard a gasp behind her and looked round. One of the office workers was staring at her. She frowned at him and he turned away, shame faced. Raven turned back to her computer. Her head felt strange… A faint, tingling sensation all across her head.

It was her hair. It felt… orange.

It was impossible to describe to someone who had never experienced it, but Raven knew that her hair was orange. It was like knowing which way your finger is pointing or if your nose is itching; it was a reflex as natural and subtle as breathing.

How could this be, she wondered? Her hair was… black. The memory of 'black hair' made her whole head tingle. She felt it change. Her hair had changed colour. But, how? It couldn't be…

Moving with the deliberate care of the nervous, Raven stood up. Flattening her skirt, she moved quickly down the office towards the bathroom. She felt the stares follow her. She saw them out of the corner of her eye, leaning out of their cubicles as she passed. Glancing down she saw her pale hand was now a dusky brown. Concentrate, she told herself furiously. Pale skin. Short, dark hair. Remember.

She completed the last few yards to the bathroom at a short run, bursting through the door and rushing to the sinks. She paused for a moment, hyperventilating over the basin. When she looked up, she saw two yellow cat's eyes staring back at her. Barely believing what she was seeing, she reached up and touched her face with her scaly, blue hand.

It had returned.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The king toppled. A slow, knowing smile spread across Erik Lehnsherr's face. He'd always known. They could never take it from him. In their jealousy and their ignorance they had tried to manacle him, to enslave him. But they could never rob him of his birthright; of his God-given gifts.

Erik rose from his seat. Pulling his hat low over his brow, he moved away down the path. There was much to do.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Marie knocked tentatively at the door. It was dark in the boy's dorm' corridor. The mansion was filled with peaceful silence. Even the night birds were quiet.

The door opened a crack, letting a thin shaft of light out into the corridor. An eye was pressed up against the gap and then the door swung further open. Bobby held the door open as Marie slipped inside while Bobby threw one last quick look down the hallway and then closed the door.

"You're sure no-one saw you?" Bobby whispered.

"'m sure" Marie nodded. She met Bobby's gaze and then looked away again quickly. He was as nervous as she way.

"Are you… are you sure this is what you want?" Bobby asked, flicking the light off. The curtains were drawn, leaving only the dim light of his bedside lamp to illuminate the bedroom.

"I'm sure" Marie replied, though in spite of herself she couldn't help but feel a little seed of doubt grow. Was she ready for this? Did she really want to go through with the whole idea? Marie quickly suppressed those thoughts. This was why she had done it. This was what she had dreamt of.

"I didn't want you to do it, you do know that?" Bobby said quickly, almost guiltily "Things didn't have to change."

"But I wanted things to change" Marie said, now fully in control of herself as she took his hands and drew him close "For me and for you."

"As long as you're sure," Bobby said. Marie nodded and reached up to kiss him. It was… wonderful. The feeling of human skin felt strangely foreign to her after all the months she had been deprived of contact, and now the feel of it, its warmth, its texture, its softness, sending shivers running down the length of her spine

Bobby placed his arms around her and pressed her close, their lips locked tight. Gradually, their kisses became stronger and more passionate. Marie's fingers trailed down Bobby's chest and felt for the hem of his t-shirt. In a moment she had slipped it over his head. She felt Bobbie's hands begin to wander, her skin tingling with excitement as his fingers ran up and down her body. He lifted her pyjama top off as she felt for the waistband of her pyjama pants. In a moment she was standing half-naked in her underwear, Bobby's hands caressing every inch of her.

Slowly, savouring every moment, they moved over to the bed. Marie lay down first, drawing Bobby on top of her. She couldn't think. Her mind and body were now running on pure instinct.

Bobby rolled over, now pulling her on top. She began to feel for the waistband of his jeans. Bobby was becoming more and more energetic, his hands grasping at her body as he crushed her slender frame against himself. Despite his protestations, he was just another guy, just like she had always suspected.

She was about to ease his jeans down when she got the first inkling that something was wrong. Bobby's energetic kisses were becoming weaker, less intense. She tried to break off, but his arms, unnaturally stiff, held her tight. She tried to break off: love and lust quickly gave way to panic. Bobby was starting to shake.

Marie broke free and leapt back off the bed. Bobby was now shaking uncontrollably, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Even in the faint lamplight, she could see the veins popping out against his waxy pale skin. Marie staggered towards the door, fighting down the urge to be sick.

"Help!" she screamed out into the corridor "Somebody! Help! Help! He's dead! Help!"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Hi guys. Hope you enjoyed this (brief) prologue. We're going to be writing this story in parallel to our Warhammer fic 'The Smugglers' Journal', which is our primary focus. How often we update depends on your response._


	2. Chapter 1

_"Billions of dollars worth of damage… historic sites desecrated… innocent civilians… hundreds of casualties… no bodies… many still at large"_

The screen darkened. The lights in the conference room rose.

"That, ladies and gentlemen, is the report," said the speaker, addressing the twin rows of suits sitting at the table before him. The speaker continued confidently:

"Of course, I do not need to remind you that the 'Alcatraz incident' is merely the latest in a long line of similar, mutant-related incidents: Liberty Island, the White House attack, Alkali Lake. You all know the details."

Graydon Creed watched as his audience digested the information. He was a tall man, in good trim. He had a hungry, handsome face and a smile as perfect as it was empty. He radiated security, confidence, giving nothing away and taking everything in.

"It is a well-known fact that mutant-related crime is becoming more and more common" Creed continued "Mutants are becoming aware of the power they hold over normal humans and using it to their advantage…"

"Mr Creed" said a sharp woman in a grey suit "I afraid I must interject. Not all mutants are criminals. The incidents you refer to were carried out by a tiny minority of the mutant community."

"A perfectly valid objection, _Signora_ _Presidente_" said Creed gracefully "But you must concede that this 'minority'" there was an almost imperceptible pause over the word "presents an extreme danger to the international community. A danger our security and defence forces have so-far proved ill-equipped to counter."

"Mr Creed, I must object!" cried an elderly man "Now, while I admit that America's forces have suffered… setbacks when confronting mutant terrorism, we have so far managed to avoid a major disaster…"

"Through the help of external forces" Creed finished smoothly "I'm afraid, Mr President, that your forces have consistently failed to capture or successfully contain these criminals. I refer you to the incidents of May third, 2003 and again on May twenty sixth, 2006…"

"Your point, Mr Creed" prompted the American President.

"My point, Mr President, is that new measures are needed to counter the threat that mutant terrorism poses"

The screen behind Creed lit up again.

"These plans were devised by the late Colonel Stryker…"

"Stryker?" a swarthy Englishman interjected "This would be William Stryker, the former commander at Alakali Lake?"

"The man who performed illegal experiments on mutants, including his own son?" added a bald African man near the American President. Creed's smile remained genial and confident.

"Gentlemen, I do not dispute that Colonel Stryker was… disturbed, even deranged and I wholeheartedly condemn his methods. But what I have here is one of the plans he rejected in favour of the… regrettable incident at Alkali Lake"

"In which you were one of his subordinates," added the swarthy Englishman. Creed did not even blink.

"I followed my orders," he said softly, but with great feeling "I did my duty to my country. It is not a soldier's place to question to orders of his superiors, is it Prime Minister?"

The Englishman looked ruffled at this and muttered something about 'commendable dedication to duty'.

"As I was saying," Creed continued, his easy confidence returning in an instance "these are the plans for Operation Nimue."

The screen behind him showed a map of the Caribbean.

"This is the island of Genosha. It lies about 100 miles south of Cienfuegos, Cuba and about the same distance north of George Town."

As Creed spoke, the map zoomed in on a small, roughly crescent shaped island in the middle of the Caribbean.

"It is sparsely populated, as it is mainly jungle and mountain. It's away from all major shipping and air lanes. Surrounded by water on all sides. In short, it is the perfect prison."

"Prison?" said a short, balding Australian "You're suggestin' we _transport_ mutants there?"

"Exactly, Prime Minister" Creed said, "It is ideal"

"And how would you keep them there?" a shrewd Chinese delegate asked, his fingers steeped under his chin.

"As I recall" he continued "your country's past attempts to 'secure' mutant criminals ended were unmitigated disasters."

"All part of the process, Mr President, that has led us to today's proposial" Creed replied.

"In fact, the issue just raised was the primary reason why Colonel Stryker rejected Operation Nimue in favour of… the alternative. The problems of containing a large number of mutants, each with their own unique powers, was considered too difficult…"

"A 'large number of mutants?'" asked the sharp faced Italian President "As I recall, this plan was for the detention of only the most dangerous mutant terrorists?"

"You are correct, _Signora_ _Presidente_, but Colonel Stryker realised that, in the event of a mass arrest, the system would need to expand to compensate. Holding one or two such mutants in specially designed cells was always possible, but mass camps were unfeasible, until now."

The screen changed to reveal the logo of Worthington Labs.

"Warren Worthington II, of Worthington Labs, had agreed to supply us with X-gene serum…"

"X-gene serum. This is the mutant 'cure' that caused all that trouble last month?" asked the bald African.

"Yes, Your Majesty" Creed nodded "Now, just before production of the serum was shut down after the destruction of Alcatraz, Worthington labs successfully created an entirely synthetic form of the serum, albeit in a much weaker form."

The screen changed again to show a diagram of a collar, fitted around a person's neck. Green nodules were built into it at regular stages. Creed pointed to the nodules with a laser pointer

"These nodules contain batches of the serum. The collar injects a steady dose of the serum into the mutant's bloodstream, suppressing their mutant powers for up to two weeks. Regular replacement will ensure the mutant is incapable of using their powers for as long as we chose."

The room sat in silent consideration.

"All of the plans are in place" continued Creed, sensing a kill was close at hand "It would be the work of months to set up the camps. Until then the mutants could be held in regular prisons, fitted with the collars. It would be…"

The American President held up his hand.

"Creed. Your proposal is to set up a detention centre on this island for mutant terrorists, am I right?"

"Yes, Mr President"

"And it is to be reserved for the most dangerous mutant criminals. Like those who attacked Alcatraz?"

"Absolutely, Mr President. Only the most dangerous mutants."

The meeting relaxed into silent thought again. Creed kept his face impassive, but inside he was grinning. He had them.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The jolt of the train drawing into the station shook Rogue awake. Picking up her bag, she got to her feet and stretched awkwardly. The carriage began to empty as the red-eyed commuters shuffled toward the door, briefcases and laptops under their arms. Rogue pulled the hood of her green coat low over her face, shouldered her bag and moved with the silent crowd onto the platform.

_What are you doing here_, she asked herself? _You didn't have to run. Not this time. They would have understood_. They had always understood. She had enough money left. She could catch the next train back to Salem and…

And then she remembered his face. The first boy she had ever loved. His pallid skin, the blue veins criss-crossing his throat. The death in his eyes. She couldn't face that. She could never face that. She could never return.

She didn't even know if he was alive. She had screamed and screamed, screamed until she was ill. And then Logan had been there, and Ororo and the others. They had taken him down to the basement. And she had run. Like she always did. Packed her bag and fled into the shadows, where she could be alone. Where she couldn't hurt anyone.

Rogue didn't have a plan. She didn't know where she could go or what she would do. Her family… her family would never accept her, not after what happened with Cody. There was no-one left for her now. But there was always work… if you wanted it bad enough.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Dr. Henry McCoy looked up from his desk as the door to the study opened. Ororo Munroe slipped in. There were new lines around her eyes and weariness in her every movement.

"How is he?" Dr. McCoy asked.

"Same" sighed Ororo, sinking into the opposite chair.

"Any news from Logan?"

"No. He radioed in half an hour ago to say he was going to check out the train station."

"He was not optimistic?"

"No, not even his nose can track her through big crowds."

"It would be easy, if we had Cerebro, but without Jean or the Professor…" Ororo trailed off. The past few weeks had taken their toll on everyone, but it had been Ororo, as the new headmistress of the Xavier Institute, who had shouldered most of the burden. Dr. McCoy's decision to fly in from Washington had been a great help, but the responsibility of leadership still weighed heavily on her.

Dr. McCoy took off his reading glasses and placed them in the top pocket of his jacket.

"This is deeply distressing," he said, pushing his chair back and resting his chin on his hand.

"You're not sure he'll live?" asked Storm anxiously.

"Oh no, he will live. Master Robert is a resilient young man, although it may take many weeks before he can be revived. Fortunately for him, Marie's powers had not returned to full strength at the time of the… encounter, saving him from almost certain death."

"I always knew that 'cure' was trouble…" Ororo growled, massaging her eyes with the palms of her hands.

"But you are sure it's wearing off?" she asked. Dr. McCoy nodded.

"Yes. I had been hearing rumours from the Department for Mutant Affairs that some of Worthington Lab's early volunteers were experiencing a resurgence of their powers, but we had no certain proof. This, I am sorry to say, will be it."

"If the 'cure' wears off, it's going to make a lot of people very angry" said Storm darkly.

"I am afraid that is not the worse of it," said Dr. McCoy "If you recall, Magneto was never recovered from Alcatraz, dead or alive. If we presume that he survived, then it leads us to a terrible conclusion…"

"That Magneto may return" Ororo concluded grimly.

"Has there been any news on the Brotherhood?" Dr McCoy asked, pinching the bridge of his nose with two blue furred fingers.

Ororo shook her head. "No one has seen or heard anything of them since the Alcatraz incident…"

Just as Ororo finished, the antique-style telephone sitting on Dr McCoy's desk began its metallic chime. With a sigh Dr McCoy picked up the receiver and dropped effortlessly into his 'affairs of state' act.

After a brief conversation with the person on the other end, he put the phone down and rested his chin on his fist.

"Gather the team" Dr McCoy said.

"Why? What's happened Hank?"

Dr McCoy raised his chin from his hand and said: "The Brotherhood have struck."


	3. Chapter 2

The intercom buzzed. Warren Worthington II looked up from the monitor. He reached over and touched a button on his desk.

"Yes, Ms. Carr?" he said.

"Your son is here to see you, Mr Worthington"

Mr Worthington paused. This was unexpected. His son was supposed to be on vacation in the Canadian Rockies. He had seen him onto the aeroplane not three days ago. Mr Worthington wondered what could have prompted the unexpected and unannounced return.

"Send him in, Ms. Carr" he ordered and let go of the button.

The door at the far end of the office opened as Warren Worthington III stepped inside. He walked with the stooped, round-shouldered gait that his harness necessitated. Mr Worthington felt a twinge of guilt as he was reminded how he had tried to rid his son of that harness forever. The wounds from that misadventure had not completely healed, but at least Mr Worthington could now look his son in the eye.

As Warren drew level with the desk, Mr Worthington noticed a strange quality in his face. It had a hard, focused look that was unusual to the young man's handsome features.

"Son, is something wrong?" asked Mr Worthington, rising from his chair.

Warren didn't reply. He stopped opposite Mr Worthington and reached inside his coat.

"Son… what's wrong?"

Warren drew a silenced pistol from inside his coat. He shot Mr Worthington twice in the chest, then tossed the gun onto the desk. Mr Worthington, too shocked to cry out, fell back into his chair.

As he slowly descended into unconsciousness, Mr Worthington saw Warren change. His son's face, hair, even his clothes, seemed to fall from him like shed skin. Now a young woman stood before him. She was at once alluring and repulsive: her shapely figure covered in blue scales. She looked down at Mr Worthington with contempt in her yellow cat's eyes.

"You took everything I had" she spat.

Mr Worthington tried to speak, but found words too painful. The woman turned and Warren Worthington III left the office. That was the last thing Mr Worthington ever saw.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Logan struck a match on the sole of his boot. He cast a knowing eye over the rubble.

"Looks like a bomb went off," he said as he lit his cigar.

"I fear it was something far more dangerous," said Dr McCoy, who was adjusting his suit.

The damage to the prison was extensive. A fifty-foot stretch of chain-link fence had been shattered. Two machinegun towers had been toppled. Large sections of the prison wall were missing, revealing the inner-belly of the building. The ground was littered with lumps of steel and concrete.

"Looks like the welcoming committee" Logan said, nodding towards a group of figures approaching their car. Logan had wanted to take the jet, but Dr McCoy had felt that a Rolls would give a better impression.

There were five men: a suit and four policemen in body armour. They were carrying rifles. Dr McCoy stepped forward and greeted them with his most diplomatic smile

"Gentlemen," he began, but was cut off by the man in the suit.

"Dr McCoy?" he asked briskly. He was grey and unimposing, except for his eyes, which although obviously tired, were as sharp as razors.

"Yes?"

"Agent Cooper, CTD. I'm afraid I need to see some ID, sir" the suit demanded, holding out his hand.

"ID? Furballs in suits must be pretty common round here (!)" Logan commented.

It was only after Dr McCoy had produced his official government papers and identification card that Agent Cooper would speak to them.

"My apologies, Dr McCoy" he said, "but we are on maximum security alert. If you would please follow me?"

Logan tried to follow Dr McCoy and Cooper, but found his way blocked by one of the policemen.

"You wanna get out of my face?" he demanded, squaring up to the cop.

"ID" the policeman demanded.

"I don't have any," said Logan. He tried to brush past the policeman, but was again blocked.

"He's with me," said Dr McCoy quickly.

"We still need ID," Cooper said.

Logan scowled and raised his left hand. Three adamantine claws shot up out of the back of his hand.

"Ah, you must be 'Wolverine'," said Cooper with a small smile "I think that's all the ID we require"

The two X Men followed Cooper into the main building to a room on the third floor. It was filled with complex computer equipment and sleep-starved men in their short sleeves. It stank of coffee.

"At 1:30am yesterday morning, there was a mass breakout from this prison" Agent Cooper began. As he talked produced a remote control device from his jacket pocket.

"As you have already seen, the damage to this institute was extensive. Ten guards were killed outright, while a further seven were injured, some permanently."

"Your phone call said that the breakout was the work of the Brotherhood of Mutants" Dr McCoy interrupted "On what do you base this claim?"

"Thankfully, the security cameras were not damaged in the attack" Cooper explained. He pushed a button on the remote control and one of the larger screens sprang to life. It showed a monochrome picture of the prison wall and security fence.

"This was a ten-foot high electric fence" Cooper told them "It was topped with barbed wire and had towers at fifty foot intervals"

"Was?" said Logan.

"Was" nodded Cooper. He pushed another button on the remote. The video jumped forward. After a few seconds a man appeared out of the shadows on the far side of the fence. He wore a long coat, a balaclava and a pair of bulky metal gloves. He stepped forward and placed both hands against the security fence. There was a brilliant flash of light and the screen went white. When it cleared, about thirty seconds later, nothing appeared to have changed.

Cooper paused the video.

"That, gentlemen, was how they disabled the electric fence" he explained.

"What?" said Logan.

"We are not sure, but we believe the man on the video to be Herman Schultz, a mutant who goes by the name…"

"Shocker" Dr McCoy finished for Agent Cooper

"Yes, Mr Cooper, I am familiar with the details of this particular gentleman" Dr McCoy explained "As Secretary for Mutant Affairs, I waged a long and arduous campaign to recruit Mr Schultz. He is an unusually gifted engineer. But, alas, it appears he prefers a life of crime to honest work."

"You are aware of the nature of his mutation?" Cooper prompted.

"Yes. As I recall, he has the ability to absorb electrical energy? To practically any strength or quantity?"

"That's correct" Cooper pushed another button on the remote and the screen beside the first activated. It displayed the criminal record of Herman Schultz. The photograph showed a thickset, ill-shaven face of a mean disposition.

"But how did he disable the electric fence, Mr Cooper?" asked Dr McCoy "He only has the power to absorb the electricity, am I correct?"

"That's what we thought too. But we believe we have the answer"

Using the remote, Cooper rewound the security tape to the moment just before the flash of the light. Zooming in on Shocker's hands, the X Men could see that the gauntlets were crackling with electrical energy.

"We believe that these gauntlets allow Shocker to re-channel the absorbed energy in the form of electrical shocks" Cooper explained.

"So he absorbed the electricity from the fence and then used it to short out the generators," Logan concluded

"Why did it not deactivate the security cameras?" Dr McCoy asked.

"The cameras are on a separate generator to the fences" Cooper answered, fast-forwarding the tape back to after the flash. Shocker did not hesitate, but vanished into the shadows beyond the fence. A few minutes passed, when two fireballs came flying out of the darkness. They struck the security towers, which burst into flame like giant candles. Logan watched as the guards leapt from the towers, some of them burning badly. Another pair of fireballs toppled the towers, while a third smashed open the breach in the chain link fence. Something moving so fast that the cameras only caught it as a blur rushed through the hole in the fence and headed straight for the main prison building. The camera shook and the view was obscured by a great cloud of dust.

"What was _that_?" asked Dr McCoy.

"That," said Cooper as he rewound the video "was a man pushing through ten feet of reinforced concrete…with his head."

The video slowed down to one frame at a time. The blur was revealed to be a huge man wearing a domed helmet, sprinting headlong towards the main building.

"Juggernaut" spat Logan.

"Quite" said Agent Cooper "This is our first sighting of him since the Alcatraz incident. And this is another first…"

He wound the video forward to a point after the dust had settled. A figure was standing in the breach. It was wearing a set of robes, with a cowl drawn low over its face.

"Now I do not recognise him" said Dr McCoy thoughtfully, putting on his glasses and peering closely at the screen.

"We are not certain," said Cooper "but we believe this to be once John Allerdyce, alias Pyro"

The video flashed forward by ten minutes. A squad of half a dozen armed policeman could be seen approaching the robed figure. The figure raised its right hand, from which it hurled a blast of fire that engulfed the guards.

"Sure is John's style" agreed Logan "But what's with the dressing gown?"

"We have no idea" shrugged Cooper, who did not seemed pleased to have to admit to a gap in his knowledge.

"And what of Mystique?" asked Dr McCoy "If the so-called cure is indeed wearing off, there is reason to presume that she has regained her mutant powers and returned to the Brotherhood."

"She does not appear on the tape" Agent Cooper replied "And neither does Magneto. Their whereabouts remain unknown to us."

"Couldn't she have been working inside the prison?" suggested Logan.

"Juggernaut's actions when he broke in suggest otherwise" replied Cooper "He conducted a seemingly random search of the cells until he found the maximum security wing and the prisoners the Brotherhood sought. If Mystique was working in the prison, we believe the breakout would have been faster and more precise than it in fact was."

"So they were looking for specific prisoners?" said Dr McCoy.

"Yes. Many normal prisoners were released. Most have been recaptured. But none left in the company of the Brotherhood. They seemed particularly interested in three mutants."

The second screen changed to show the record of an enormously fat man with a crew cut.

"Ahh, old friend. We meet again," Dr McCoy said softly.

"Huh? You know this guy?" asked Logan.

"Before your time, my young friend" smiled Dr McCoy "I helped to apprehend this gentleman on one of the X Men's very first missions. But that was many years ago. You were probably still in high school…"

"Watch it" Logan warned him.

"Frederick J. Dukes" read Agent Cooper "or 'The Blob'. He is impervious to almost all external forces, possesses super-human strength and can control his own personal gravity field to make him virtually immovable."

"Nice guy" said Logan sardonically.

The screen changed again. This time it showed a square-jawed man with dark hair and a cocky expression.

"Apprehended in the forests of the Appalachian Mountains just over a month ago" Cooper said.

"His name is James Madrox, alias 'Multiple Man'" he continued "Can produce unlimited duplicates of himself."

"And the third?" prompted Dr McCoy.

"The third is Arthur Centino"

The screen changed to show a handsome young man with blonde hair. Two more photographs were displayed beneath the first. They showed a pair of hands, each with only three fingers.

"What's this?" asked Logan, pointing to the photographs with his cigar.

"Those are his hands," explained Cooper "They're part of his mutation."

"Seems pretty harmless to me"

"That's not all. He is in fact a class four mutant with the ability to alter probability to give himself unnatural good luck. Hence his alias: Longshot. Mercifully, his powers only extend to his own actions and immediate area."

"Any idea where they've gone?" asked Logan.

"They left the complex at 2:15 am, heading roughly east. They have not been seen since."

Dr McCoy stood for a moment in silent thought.

"Tell me, Agent Cooper," he said at length "why were these mutant prisoners being held together in a state prison? Surely this was inviting just such a breakout? What of the mobile prisons that Secretary Trask devised?"

Agent Cooper frowned and crossed his arms. When he answered, it was in slow and carefully measured words.

"I must confess, Dr McCoy, that I do not know. Two weeks ago, orders arrived from the most senior offices to have all mutant criminals transferred south. I was assigned here, to Florida State, but I believe similar transfers were made to prisons in Louisiana and Mississippi too."

"Why to the south?" asked Dr McCoy

"Again, I do not know. I do not have the authority or the security clearance to obtain that kind of information."

"But I do" said Dr McCoy.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The acrid stench of the cheap beer, cheap cologne and all round cheapness cut through the smoke-laden atmosphere of the diner. Deep in a shadowed alcove, Rogue sat with a cold cup of what was allegedly coffee and considered her immediate future.

She couldn't go back to the mansion. Not yet. It was too soon. And she couldn't deny it: she was scared. Scared of what she would find.

Where could she go? Too scared to return. Too scared to run. No job. No money. No roof. No friends. What could she do?

"This seat taken?"

A gruff voice cut through Rogue's introspection. A burly trucker was leaning over her.

Rogue blinked. "Ahm sorry, what?"

"This seat taken?" the trucker repeated irritably.

"No, no. Take it" she said, waving to the trucker to take the chair. She didn't exactly want company right now.

To Rogue's consternation, instead of taking the chair away, the burly man simply dropped into the wooden seat, causing the legs to creak ominously. A moment later, the plump waitress whom had served Rogue waddled over to the table to take the trucker's order.

"The usual, Bart?"

"Please, Alice"

"Hey, have you seen 'Speedy' lately?" the waitress asked.

"Nah. Shouldn't he be in here?" the trucker replied.

"Speedy?" asked Rogue, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Oh, we just mean ol' Pete Maximoff" the waitress explained "We call him 'Speedy Gonzalez' 'cause he's always the first in here for lunch."

"Works on the other side o' the city, yet he's always able to get over here for twelve noon. On the dot. Never could figure out how…" mused the trucker.

"Well, he ain't been in for over a week now," said the waitress, a little nervously.

"Ahh, he's probably upped and left" said the trucker.

"Well, he ain't the only one neither. My sister, Liz, a friend of hers just vanished."

"Vanished?"

"Yeah. She went into her apartment and when Liz called on her in the mornin', she weren't there"

"So? She probably got picked up by some fella and went back to his place."

"If y' ask me," said the waitress, ignoring the trucker's crude joke "it's got something to do with them muties in the sewers."

"Ahh, come on!" scoffed the trucker "Ya don't believe all that crap, do you?"

"Well it said in the Bugle that there's dozens of 'em down there. Comin' out at night and robbin' trashcans like damned racoons. Suppose they start robbin' people?"

"Ahh, you worry too much. Probably nothing more than a coupla bums with bad eczema!"

The waitress turned and left in a huff.

"Muties in the sewer, I ask ya…" the trucker shook his head, before turning to the girl sitting next to him.

"So, what's a nice girl like you doin' in a place…"

But Rogue had gone.


	4. Chapter 3

"And if you look out the left-hand windows, you should get your first view of the island"

The clouds parted. Genosha lay below, an emerald star in the tropical sea. The island was lush with jungle, rising up to a range of brown peaks. Black smoke rose in a continuous stream from a wide bay on the southern coast.

Graydon Creed raised his microphone:

"Genosha was once a haven for pirates, who preyed on the Spanish treasure galleons that sailed from the Americas to Europe. I'm sure you realise the irony of turning a den of thieves into a prison."

There were a few polite smiles from the passengers.

"That smoke you can see is from controlled de-forestation. We are clearing space for the first two camps…"

"_Two_ camps, Mr Creed?" asked Ms. Pritchard, a blubbery woman with a double chin.

"One for the men, one for the women. I'm sure I don't to explain the reason why to _you_, Ms. Pritchard" Creed explained, favouring her with one of his most charming smiles. Ms. Pritchard blushed slightly under her thick makeup and turned back to the window.

"You must be running quite an extensive operation down there, Mr Creed," said Mr Corgan, the Texan oil tycoon.

"Seems to me" Mr Corgan continued "Seems to me that you got pretty deep pockets Mr Creed. Why would you be needin' outside investors, like myself?"

Creed's smile remained quietly confident.

"It is true that we have received… substantial funding from the UN, Mr Corgan, but we are only in the preliminary stages of construction. Without your investment, we won't get above foundation level."

"Now hold on there Creed. I ain't signed up to your scheme yet," said Mr. Corgan with a self-satisfied smile.

Oh, but you will, Creed thought. That's why I chose you. That's why I chose all of them. Because every one of you hates mutants, in your own way.

Not only did Creed know how they demonstrated their hatred, he also knew why. The _why_ was the key. It was well known in certain circles (although he kept it carefully hidden from the general public) that Corgan would not employ a known mutant and would go to great lengths to have them removed. But what was less well known was that, in his youth, Corgan had been engaged to a mutant girl. The shock upon discovering her secret created in Corgan a deep-seated prejudice against mutantkind. That kind of information did not come cheap, but to a man like Creed it could be very powerful.

"When are the camps due to be open?" asked Mr Juarez, a Mexican businessman with an international chain selling electrical goods. Who lost a fortune in gold bullion when mutant terrorists raided his Swiss bank account last year, Creed reminded himself.

"With proper funding, the camps will be ready in a matter of weeks. Construction of the central complex has yet to begin, but we estimate that it will take less than two months" Creed explained.

A light over the cabin door turned on.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would kindly fasten your seatbelts" Creed instructed "We are about to descend."

The plane began to turn left, swooping down towards the island in a long curve. Looking out the windows, the passengers could see a collection of dark buildings around a bay on the north-east corner of the island.

"That, ladies and gentlemen, is Hammer Bay" explained Creed, who was now seated "It used to be a US naval base for servicing nuclear submarines, but they're transferring it to us as soon as we're firmly established on the island."

"So the United States government will have no involvement in the camps?" asked Ms. Pritchard, a life-long bigot who demonised mutants to compensate for her own inadequacies.

"No more than any other government, Ms. Pritchard. Our guards will be part of an international force appointed by UN. The prison will retain all of Hammer Bay's facilities but it was felt that it would be unwise to risk nuclear weaponry falling into mutant hands."

"I think you meant to say mutant _terrorist_ hands, Mr Creed" interjected a British voice from the back of the plane. Creed turned in his seat.

Ah yes, he thought, it would be you.

"That is what I meant, of course, Mr Marko" said Creed, keeping his expression carefully blank.

Francis Marko was a reclusive British eccentric, with a reputed multibillion-dollar fortune. Creed had been unable to discover how Marko earned his money. Neither had he found a specific reason for Marko's anti-mutant prejudices. Creed's agents had provided him with several cases that demonstrated Marko's hatred, but they could discover no underlying motivation. Creed had concluded that it was simply an irrational hatred, maybe even verging on psychosis. If that was the case, then Marko was the mildest psychopath Creed had ever met. Creed had only spoken to him briefly, but Marko gave the impression of a well-spoken, middle-aged English gentleman with a mind as sharp as a knife. He was easily the most dangerous member of the group.

The plane was coming in for its final descent, landing on a narrow airstrip on the landward side of Hammer Bay. The naval complex consisted of large grey buildings with camouflaged roofs (to confuse enemy spy planes) arranged around a heavily reinforced concrete fort. The submarine dry-dock, empty at the moment, was to the south. The whole complex was surrounded by a high wire fence.

"We won't be using aircraft to transport the prisoners to Genosha" Creed explained as he led the small group of investors across the airstrip, heading for the fort.

"It's too dangerous to risk them gaining control of an aircraft. Transporting mutants also requires lots of special equipment to cope with their unique powers, many of which is too heavy to load onto a aeroplane. So we are going to be using three specially converted navy destroyers instead."

"And if the mutants should take control of the ship?" asked Ms. Stachanonvik, the sour-faced owner of a popular fast food chain. Her reason for hating mutants had been well concealed. Discovering it had cost Creed a lot of money, but it had been worth it. Ms. Stachanonvik's great-aunt had been a mutant. It was a case of guilt by relation.

"Ships are harder to lose than aeroplanes," Creed said "And more easily re-captured. In the worse case scenario, we can simply take out the ship with an air strike."

"You have thought of everything, have you not Mr. Creed" said the thin, haughty voice of Feng Lau. Creed had worked with some terrible men in his life, but Feng Lau disgusted even him. Arrogant beyond belief, Lau used his dessert manufacturing business as a cover for a lucrative heroin smuggling ring. He was immensely cruel, with a voracious sexual appetite and a casual disdain for human life. He would probably invest in the scheme simply for the pleasure of causing pain, Creed thought.

"I thank you, Mr Lau" said Creed "I am sure we will be able to cope with any problems the mutants may throw at us."

"Quite right, too" said Lau with a slight smile.

The group passed through a checkpoint and into the fort. Creed led them through low corridors of bare concretes. He made a special point of pointing out the advanced security technology; electrified floors, reinforced blast doors, vents for pumping nerve gas into the corridor.

The investors were then led to a large room that had once served as the mess hall for the fort's garrison. The large table in the centre of the room had been converted into a scale model of the finished camps. The investors spread out round the table, peering closely at the model. Creed stepped back into a corner to observe their body language. Ms. Pritchard screwed up her nose; she was evidently baffled. Lau was smiling slightly. Corgan and Juarez were looking thoughtful and conversing in low voices. Marko was as unreadable as ever. Creed allowed them a few minutes inspection before stepping back up to the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen" he said, waiting until he had their attention "as you have no doubt realised, this is a mock up of what the finished camps will look like."

"Very impressive, Mr Creed" said Lau "How do you intend to control the mutants once you have imprisoned them? These are not ordinary prisoners, after all."

"I'm glad you asked me that, Mr Lau" said Creed, drawing a remote control from inside his jacket "If you would kindly direct your attention to the far end of the room…"

Creed touched a button on the remote. A light sprang on at the end of the room. Its narrow beam illuminated a glass cabinet containing an mannequin wearing orange boiler suit.

"This is the uniform the prisoners will wear" said Creed, stepping over to the cabinet.

"Observe their shoes" he continued, "Loose plastic: useless for trekking through jungle. This will help restrict their movement to the areas around the camp. The suit's distinctive colour will also make it easier for us to track escapees."

Creed touched another button on the remote. A second cabinet was illuminated, to the right of the first. This mannequin was wearing a high-tech military uniform.

"This is the equipment the camp guards will use" Creed explained. He explained the suit's many special features: bullet-proof body armour, night goggles, resistance to extreme temperatures, stun gas grenades, tranquiliser dart gun, electrified baton.

"Commendably vicious, Mr Creed" said Marko with a wry smile.

"These mutants are animals, Mr Marko" Creed replied "Many people wanted to equip the guards with firearms as standard but it was felt that this combination was more… _humane_."

Creed sneered at that final word. It had the desired effect. The investors smiled. They shared his sentiment and made no attempt to hide the fact.

"Very useful, I do not doubt, Mr Creed" said Lau, a shrewd look on his face "For human prisoners. But these… mutants. Some of their powers are far greater than mere technology. How can you be sure that your guards will be equipped to deal with, say, a mutant like Magneto?"

Creed pushed a third button on the remote. The third cabinet contained only one item.

"This collar…" Creed began, but Marko interrupted:

"… will suppress their powers"

Creed stared at Marko. For a brief moment, there was a strange look in his eye. Something like terror, or disgust. It was so quick that Creed almost missed it, but he sure it had been there.

"It's like you read my mind, Mr Marko" Creed said, his face betraying none of his suspicions. Marko smiled and said nothing as Creed explained about the contract with Worthington Labs.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"This is a message to the enemies of mutantkind. Two months ago, our leader, Magneto, was taken from us. He fell in combat, fighting for the future of his people. He became a glorious martyr to the cause of mutant supremacy.

Magneto had a vision: a vision of times to come. He knew that one day we would be free. He knew that we would not always be the ones to run, the ones to cower in fear. He looked forward to that glorious day when we, _homo superior_, would assume our birthright: domination.

Magneto is gone. Snatched from us, by your hands. He will not see the day of mutant victory. But his sacrifice will not be forgotten. I, Acolyte, faithful servant of Magneto, make this vow: that I will avenge my master's death and see his dream fulfilled. I, and the Brotherhood of Mutants, his children, are still here.

The war will continue. Expect no mercy from us, for you showed us none. The death of Magneto will be avenged by the death of a million humans, and then a million more. No one will be safe; man, woman or child. Long live the Brotherhood! Long live mutantkind!"

"And…cut!"

There was a small round of applause from Multiple Man, who was acting as director of the video. And the cameraman. And the sound technician. And the boom-operator.

Acolyte slumped back into his chair. Reaching up, he pushed his hood back to get more air. He felt drained. The speech had been strangely cathartic, releasing much of the stress and worry that had been building up over the past few weeks. But it had not released his anger, that dull ache in the depths of his chest. Perhaps nothing could really remove that.

"Multiple Man, get one of you to run out to the police station tonight. Make sure you leave the disk somewhere obvious, huh?"

"Sure thing, boss" said the director Man. Getting up from his canvas chair, Multiple Man stood still for a moment and then a new, identical, copy stepped _out_ of him. Acolyte still found that power impressive, no matter how many times he saw it. The new copy ejected the DVD from the recorder behind the camera and, pocketing it, headed towards the tunnel that led to the surface.

"Any news on Shocker?" Acolyte asked, looking across the cave to where Blob and Juggernaut sat playing cards. It was quite funny to watch; neither of them had hands small enough to hold the cards, so were constantly dropping cards and blaming the other. The arguments invariably degenerated into futile punch-ups.

"Nah, nothin'" grunted Blob, not looking up as he tried shuffle the deck between his thick, swiss-roll fingers.

"Longshot's out front waitin' for 'im, Pyro," said Juggernaut, scowling at Blob's slowness.

"Pyro died at Alcatraz," said Acolyte sharply "_I_ am Acolyte"

Pyro had been weak. He had been unable to save Magneto. Iceman had beaten him. So, in the days after the Alcatraz incident, John had created Acolyte. Acolyte, who would be strong: a leader of mutants and a living terror to humanity.

Juggernaut just shrugged

"Whatever. I can't follow all o' these name changes. Hey, why don't you change your name?" he said with a smile, prodding Blob in the chest "'Ave somethin' a even more appropriate, like Lard-Arse?"

Blob roared and punched Juggernaut in the jaw, scattering cards everywhere. Acolyte sighed. He stretched out his right hand and sent a jet of flame across the cave and over the brawlers' heads. The two mutants froze, their hands wrapped around each other's throats.

"Would you two _quit it_!" Acolyte yelled, leaning forward and thumping the table "Have you forgotten? We're at _war_! What do you think you're doing?"

"I'd say they're just trying to keep match fit, boss"

Acolyte looked round. Longshot was leaning against the tunnel entrance, eyeing them with contempt. Acolyte hated Longshot almost as much as he feared him. Not only was Longshot as powerful as Acolyte, he was also the only the member of the group with the intelligence and the ambition to take control, and they both knew it. The only reason Acolyte had not called him out was that he needed him for the upcoming operation. But he was too dangerous to be a permanent Brother, that was for sure.

"Any word from Shocker?" Acolyte asked, matching Longshot's arrogant stare and holding his gaze. Longshot gave a cocky grin and moved into the cave. Shocker appeared in the tunnel behind him, a briefcase in one hand.

"You got the schedules?" asked Acolyte, holding out his hand for the briefcase. Shocker nodded and handed him the case without a word.

"Excellent" Acolyte said with a smile.

"Brothers", he added, raising his voice to address the whole group "We're ready."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The door of the conference room slid open. Kitty Pryde tried to slip in unnoticed, but was brought up short by Ororo.

"Katherine Pryde," she snapped "your uniform is a mess. Straighten it up at once!"

Kitty mumbled an apology and half-heartedly adjusted the leather suit.

"Sit down" ordered Ororo. She was pale and red-eyed from lack of sleep. The pressure of command had done nothing for her temper either.

"Where were you?" asked Logan, who was sitting on Ororo's left in the centre of the table.

"With Bobby" Kitty mumbled, staring at the tabletop.

"You OK?" asked Peter Rasputin. Kitty nodded, but her red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked face betrayed her.

"Now that we're _all_ here" said Ororo, shooting another scathing glance at Kitty "I can make the introductions."

She pointed to the four monitors that had been set up opposite the table. They each showed a grainy webcam picture.

"You all remember Kurt?" Ororo said, indicating the monitor on the far left. The picture showed the elfin features of Kurt Wagner. He waved and gave a sharp-toothed grin.

Ororo then pointed to the monitor on Kurt's left. It showed a handsome, middle-aged man with dark skin.

"This is Forge" she explained "He helped build the Mansion and a lot of our 'special' technology."

Forge nodded. His expression was grave.

"That's Hank, obviously" said Storm. Dr McCoy smiled.

"And the last is another old friend: Alex, codename: Havok"

"Good to see you, Ororo!" said the fresh faced young man on the final monitor. Logan stared hard at him.

"There's something familiar about him," he said to Ororo under his breath.

"He's Scott's brother" replied Ororo, keeping her voice low. Logan's eyes widened, but he said nothing.

"As there are so few X-Men left," Ororo explained "Logan and I have decided to call in some favours."

"_Ach_, Ororo, do you have to put it so? You know that I am always happy to help," said Kurt, shooting Ororo a playfully reproachful look.

"Yeah, what he said," added Alex.

"Thank you" said Ororo, smiling. It was strained, but it was the first smile she had worn for days.

"First thing we gotta do," said Logan, leaning forward onto his elbows "is to find Rogue."

"She can stay lost" muttered Kitty under her breath. But she was not quiet enough to escape Logan's hearing.

"You take that back!" he snapped, slamming a hand down on the table "She didn't hurt Bobby deliberately. It was an accident, _got that_?"

"Then why'd she run?" demanded Kitty, her eyes welling up with tears "Why? You don't run away unless you got something to run from! What's she afraid of!"

"You've got no idea," said Logan. A terrible look of pain had entered in his eyes.

"You've got no idea" he repeated "No idea what it feels like… like you could hurt someone without meanin' to. Even kill 'em… kill someone you love. So ya run. Ya run until ya can't hurt anyone any more. _You have no idea_."

There was silence in the conference room for a few seconds. Ororo cleared her throat.

"We understand. That's why we must find Rogue before she does herself, or anyone else, harm."

"What were her last known co-ordinates?" asked Forge.

"We're pretty sure she took a train to New York" said Logan "But beyond that… nothin'."

"I'm in that area," said Alex "Just gimme a photo and I'll get right on it."

"Thank you, Alex" said Ororo "Kurt, would you please work with him. Rogue knows you, so it should make finding her a little easier."

"Of course, _schöner Dame_"

"That leaves the rest of us to concentrate on the Brotherhood" said Ororo, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes "Hank, what progress have you made investigating the transfers to southern prisons?"

"None. I am afraid I do not have the correct security clearance," said Dr McCoy. His expression was grim.

"But… aren't you an ambassador or something?" said the perplexed Peter.

"Indeed I am, young man, but I only possess Level Three security clearance" said Beast "Information on this particular operation is restricted to persons with Level Four."

"And that's the maximum clearance you can get?" said Logan.

"Yes. The only person to possess unconditional Level Four Security Clearance is the President. The only way for anyone else to receive it is by personal presidential grant."

"This is starting to stink" Logan growled.

"There does indeed appear to be something unpalatable in Denmark," said Dr McCoy thoughtfully.

"Please keep trying, Hank" said Ororo.

"To the best of my abilities" said Dr McCoy graciously.

"So what _are_ we going do about the Brotherhood?" asked Kitty.

"It looks like our only course of action is to remain vigilant" replied Ororo wearily "Investigate every lead and…"

She stopped abruptly. Logan had held up his hand. He was sniffing the air.

"Blood" he said, "Close. Outside the mansion."

"How on earth can you…" Kitty began to ask, but Logan cut her off.

"No time. Ororo, get the security cameras up on those monitors"

"Sorry you guys" said Ororo as she crossed the room to a computer station set into the northern wall. The monitors flickered into static and then switched to the monochrome security camera pictures. Ororo cycled through the cameras, covering nearly every inch of the grounds. She stopped when they activated the camera overlooking the mansion door.

Warren Worthington III was leaning against the doorframe, beating feebly on the wood with his fist. His pants were torn. His body was streaked with mud. The remnants of a shirt hung around his shoulders. His white-feathered wings were limp against his back. They were splattered with blood. A makeshift bandage was around his right shoulder. It was dripping blood. The X-Men watched horrified as the last of his strength gave out and he collapsed on the doorstop.


End file.
